


Back in Black (Fur)

by SushiOwl



Series: Pigments and Pentacles [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, M/M, Pack Feels, Rimming, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing?” Stiles asked as the backs of his legs hit the bed and he flopped down on his back. “You’re not seriously going to molest me in my father’s house, are you?” </p>
<p>“The concept absolutely tickles me,” Peter admitted, climbing over Stiles and bracketing him with his arms and legs. “I want to make you scream in your old room and know that I’m the first.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted. “Narcissist.” </p>
<p>“Most definitely,” Peter agreed, leaning in to kiss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back in Black (Fur)

**Author's Note:**

> This one ran loooong, ugh. xD 
> 
> Unedited because I'm a lazy shit. If you see anything glaring, let me know.

It was at the border of Beacon Hills that Peter started to feel anxious. It had been four years since he set foot in his family's old territory, and he felt like an outsider even more so than before. As they drove through what could barely be called a city and into the suburbs, Peter was coming up with a thousand excuses to beg off with.

Then he looked at Stiles, who was sitting in the passenger seat and looking as excited as a tiny puppy. If Peter didn't go through with meeting Stiles’s father and visiting the pack, Stiles would be disappointed. Peter was trying his best not to do that.

When he pulled the car into the driveway of the Stilinski residence, there was a police cruiser already there, the word Sheriff on the side. As subtly as he could, Peter sniffed for gun oil and wolfsbane, but all he could smell was lawn treatment chemicals and BBQ coal.

Before they made it to the door, it swung open to reveal Stiles’s father. Peter had only seen him once and not up close. Stiles looked like a skinnier version of him with amber eyes.

Stiles jogged the rest of the way across the lawn as Sheriff Stilinski held his arms open. They collided with laughter, both of this crushing each other in the embrace, and Peter heard somebody's spine pop. Peter stood around awkwardly for the longest father-son hug of the century.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," Stiles’s father said, finally releasing Stiles and turning his attention toward Peter. "And you must be the boyfriend."

Peter put on a winning smile. "I am," he said, stepping closer and holding out his hand for the man to take. "Peter Hale."

The man took his hand and shook it, his grip firm. "John Stilinski. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too, sir,” Peter said, and the man made a face.

“John, please, I get enough ‘sir’ business at work. Come in.” He turned and went into the house, Stiles bouncing happily after him. 

Peter shut the door after him, following John and Stiles through a modest living room and into a dining room. There were bags on the table from Jason’s Deli.

“So, I got chicken wraps,” John explained.

“I bet this is the first healthy meal you’ve had since I left,” Stiles teased with a grin.

“Well, not the first,” John said, smiling before he sat down and started going the the bags. 

Stiles sat down at the chair nearest his father, and Peter settled down next to him, accepting a chicken wrap with a word of thanks as it was handed to him. He felt awkward, but he wasn’t terrified that John was going to castrate him with a wolfsbane laced knife for touching his son.

John and Stiles started talking about Stiles’s schooling, and Peter kept quiet to just listen. Stiles was a treat to listen to when he was talking excitedly about all the kids he was going to help. John laughed in all the appropriate places and clapped his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, and Stiles grinned brightly. Peter felt like an observer until John turned to him.

“So, you’re a tattoo artist,” John said. “What’s that like?”

“It depends on the client,” Peter replied with a smile.

“Oh, I’ve got to show you my tattoo!” Stiles announced, standing up and making his chair skid back. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up, showing off the fox on his side. “Isn’t it cool?” 

“Sure is, kiddo,” John said, running his fingers over the inked skin.

“Look what I can make it do,” Stiles said, and the fox started prancing across his skin, bounding over his belly button and walking around his back until it came to its original resting place, where it stopped. 

John didn’t say anything immediately, his eyes wide and disbelieving, before he let out a whistle. “That sure is something.”

“I told you I was learning magic,” Stiles said, letting his shirt drop. 

“Yeah, you did,” John said, rubbing his lips, before he stood. “And now it is time for beer. Do you want one, Peter?”

“Please.” Peter said with a nod.

“I want one too!” Stiles said, looking huffy that he hadn’t been asked.

John stared at his a second before he sighed. “Okay, but just because I know Peter won’t let you drive while intoxicated,” he said, before he walked into the kitchen.

Stiles waited until he was out of the room to whirl toward Peter. “You okay?”

Peter snorted, grabbing the back of Stiles’s head and pulling him into a kiss. “I’m fine.” 

Giggling, Stiles pushed him away by a hand on his face. “No kisses around my dad. It’s weird.”

John came back with three beers, sitting down and taking a swig of his own. 

“You know, dad,” Stiles started. “I’m surprised you’re not giving Peter some kind of shovel speech. You know, hurt him and I’ll kill you? I’m almost offended.”

John snorted as he took a swig of his beer. “Well, it’s not like I’ve ever had the opportunity since Peter’s the first person you’ve brought home to me. I’m out of practice at being a crazy over-protective dad.” He chuckled as Stiles puffed out his cheeks like an angry hamster.

Peter laughed. “Personally, I’m thankful that you’re not threatening us into a shotgun wedding.”

John took on a slightly panicked expression. “You can’t get my son pregnant, can you?” he asked, and Stiles let out a squawk. “That’s not a special thing werewolves can do, right?” 

“No, dad!” Stiles squawked, before he slowly turned toward Peter, eyes widening. “Right?” he asked in a soft voice.

Peter wanted to push Stiles off his chair. “No, that is not a thing I can do.” When Stiles and John looked equally relieved, Peter took a swig of the beer. “Also, the shovel speech is unneeded. Lydia already threatened to cut me into pieces and burn me if I hurt Stiles.”

“Whaaaat?” Stiles asked, eyes wide. “When?” 

“Mm, last summer?” Peter said, before he shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles scooted his chair closer. “I would have told her to back off.”

“She was just worried about you. And she was only terrifying. I was only partially afraid for my life.” He smiled, and Stiles huffed at him.

“Asshole,” Stiles said. 

“Maybe,” Peter agreed with a shrug.

“Anyway,” Stiles went on, shaking his head. “Dad, tell me about work. Any horrific deaths you’ve had to deal with?”

“No, son, actually things have been pretty quiet, no maulings or anything.”

* * *

When John had to head into work, he gave Stiles another bear hug and then a handshake for Peter. Left alone, Peter glanced around the living room before turning a licentious smile on Stiles.

“What’s that face for?” Stiles asked with a giggle. He’d had three beers and was clearly feeling it. 

“I absolutely have to see your childhood room,” Peter said, gravitating towards the boy and putting his arm around his shoulders. 

“Okay, there, Mr Bad Touch,” Stiles laughed, knocked Peter’s arm off before taking his hand and leading him up the stairs. 

Stiles’s old room was much like Peter thought it would be. It was messy, posters on the wall and queen sized bed undone. There were two bookcases and a wall covered in articles and pictures with a spiderweb of different colored yarn. It looked like a conspiracy theorist’s wall, and Peter wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“So, this is it,” Stiles said, spreading his arms before letting them drop to his sides. “I was gonna take my bed and my desk to school, but it was already furnished, so.” He shrugged.

“Ah,” Peter said, before he moved into Stiles’s space, taking hold of his hips and turning him so he could back him toward the bed. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked as the backs of his legs hit the bed and he flopped down on his back. “You’re not seriously going to molest me in my father’s house, are you?” 

“The concept absolutely tickles me,” Peter admitted, climbing over Stiles and bracketing him with his arms and legs. “I want to make you scream in your old room and know that I’m the first.”

Stiles snorted. “Narcissist.” 

“Most definitely,” Peter agreed, leaning in to kiss him.

“Mm, well, you better hurry, because we’re expected elsewhere.” Stiles put his head back, letting out a shivering sigh. 

“We’re lucky you’re on a juvenile hair trigger then,” Peter said with a grin, and Stiles stuck out his tongue. So Peter caught that tongue and sucked on it, making Stiles moan.

Soon Peter was on his knees between Stiles’s legs, having pulled Stiles’s pants down to his ankles. He mouthed at Stiles’s cock through his adorable Batman briefs, before he pulled those down too. Stiles moaned as Peter took his cock in his mouth, giving it a suck.

He worked Stiles’s shoes off so he could relinquish him of his pants and underwear, all the while licking his dick like a slowly melting popsicle. Then he pushed his legs up high and wide open, exposing him.

"What're you--" Stiles tried to say, before his words became a cry as Peter lapped at his hole. "Fuck, _fuck!_ " he whined, reaching down to fist a hand in Peter’s hair.

Peter let Stiles ruin his styled hair, licking and slurping at his ass messily. He pressed a finger in next to his tongue, crooking it and catching the bundle of nerves inside Stiles easily. He had Stiles bucking in minutes.

"Peter, Peter," Stiles moaned, grinding against his face. "Please, I'm gonna--" That was the extent of the warning he was able to give before he shot all over his shirt.

Peter drew back enough to suck a hickey onto Stiles’s inner thigh, listening to his harsh breathing come under control again. Stiles pushed himself up on his elbows, looking completely fucked out with his face flushed and swollen lips parted. Peter grinned at him, nuzzling the bruise he just created on Stiles’s inner thigh.

"You son of a bitch," Stiles said on a giggle, pushing at Peter’s head. "Now I have to change my shirt."

Peter hummed in consideration. "I think you should leave it."

Stiles snorted it, sitting up. "I'm not going into a den filled with werewolves with come stains on my shirt."

"They know we're fucking, don't they?" Peter asked with a smile.

"Yes, but there is knowing and there's having it shoved in your face, up your nostrils and into your brain." Stiles pulled the shirt over his head, careful not to get jizz in his hair. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Can you go and get my bag out of the car?"

Heaving a sigh, Peter rocked onto his feet and stood. "Yes, dear," he said, and Stiles laughed as he got out and walked, naked, into the bathroom.

Once he was outside, he hit the button on his keychain to pop the trunk of his car and grabbed Stiles’s bag. When he closed the trunk, he paused, nostrils flaring as he smelled something strange. It was sickly sweet like fermenting fruit. He glanced around with Stiles’s bag hanging from his shoulder, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He rubbed his nose and headed back inside.

* * *

"I'm having reservations," Peter told Stiles as they rode the long gravel path into the preserve. He was holding the steering wheel a bit too tight.

"What? Why? You were fine when you met my dad," Stiles said, and Peter looked over to see his eyebrows pinched together.

"Your dad could not disembowel me at a moment's notice. Derek and Scott could. I am an alpha, and I'm more or less invading their territory." He tried not to think about, but the harder he tried the more he failed. He didn’t think anyone would try to murder him, but the possibility did not comfort him.

Stiles laid his hand over Peter's where it was on the gear shift. "I'll be with you," he assured him. "I won't let anything happen to you."

It was silly to feel better when a twenty-year-old college student vowed to protect him, but it did settle the squeezing knots in his stomach. He turned his hand up and cause Stiles’s fingers. 

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you,” Peter tried to joke, but it sounded a lot more sincere than he intended.

“I appreciate it,” Stiles told him, giving him a sweet smile.

Peter wasn’t prepared for how he would feel when he saw the rebuilt Hale estate. He pulled up next to Derek’s Camaro and turned off the engine, just looking up at the huge house. He sucked in a breath, gearing himself up for what was bound to be a disaster. When Stiles took his hand, he didn’t pull away.

“Okay, check this and try not to laugh,” Stiles said, pulling him up onto the porch and pushing the doorbell button. The tone that rang out was ridiculous, far too cheery for someone that sulked in the dark like Derek.

Peter snorted. “Who picked that out?”

“Erica,” Stiles replied with a smile.

There was movement inside the house, and Peter thought he was prepared to suddenly see Derek after four years, but he wasn’t. Derek looked taller, probably because he wasn’t slouching anymore, and his face was full of fluff. But Peter had known this from the pictures of Scott and Allison’s wedding. What he hadn’t known was the ice had melted in Derek’s eyes. He looked warm, soft and welcoming. He looked healed.

Stiles looked between them. “Are you guys talking on magical airwaves right now? You’re just kind of staring at each other.” 

“Sorry,” Derek said, stepping back. “Come in. Everyone’s waiting.” 

Stiles went inside, and Peter followed after him, his breath catching as he looked around. “It’s exactly the way it used to be,” he said, brows coming together. “How?” 

“I found the original plans for the house in the vault,” Derek said, watching him look around. “I wanted my home back.”

“I’m glad you have it,” Peter told him, and he was being honest.

Derek gave a little half smile, and it was more than Peter had gotten out of him since the fire. “C’mon.” He turned and led them into the living room where the pack was no doubt waiting.

Peter had figured there would be staring eyes, but he wasn’t prepared for how many them there would be. There was Scott and Allison, in an armchair with her sitting in his lap and his arms around her waist. Peter was surprisingly relieved that Scott no longer had the Magnum moustache. Isaac was there, sitting with Boyd and Erica. There was a black woman with face and neck scars, and she must have been this Braeden Derek was dating. Lydia was there too, sitting neck to once-a-lizard Jackson.

Then there was… Peter sucked in a breath. “Cora…”

Cora’s eyebrows were pinched together, and she stood up from her place on the couch. She approached him slowly, and Peter couldn’t believe how much she’d grown. Last time he’d seen her, she was eleven, and she’d had pigtails. Now she was a grown woman of twenty.

“Uncle Peter,” she said, standing in front of him and searching his face with flicks of her brown eyes. She lifted her hand and touched his face, moving closer. “Did you mean to do it?”

There was only one thing she could have been asking about: Laura. “No,” he told her, giving a single shake of his head. “I didn’t.”

Cora pressed her lips together, her chin wobbling a little, before she put her arms around him. “I believe you,” she said with a sniff as he held her. “I forgive you.”

Peter closed his eyes tight and buried his face into her neck, dragging in a harsh, shaky breath. He didn’t cry, but only by a fraction. He smiled as Cora drew back, wiping at her eyes.

“We should get pizza,” Cora said, and Peter’s smile widened. “Who else is craving pizza?” 

They got pizza.

Derek and Braeden went to go get the food, because Dominoes didn’t deliver all the way to the middle of nowhere. That left Peter almost alone with the kids… who weren’t actually kids anymore, but he had nothing else to call them. There was one place to sit, another armchair that Braeden had vacated, and when he sat down Stiles climbed into his lap, sitting pretty and looking pleased with himself.

Jackson made a displeased noise, and Stiles put his arm around Peter’s shoulder before giving Jackson wide eyes. “Got something to say?” 

“Nothing you want to hear,” Jackson said, frowning and turning his nose up.

“Try me,” Stiles said, a polite, empty smile on his face.

“I just think it’s gross you’re flaunting that you’re a grave robber,” Jackson said, increasingly unamused.

Stiles looked at Peter, and Peter lifted his brows, nodding a little. “Jackson, you flaunt what you have with Lydia. Why shouldn’t I flaunt what I have?” he asked, and he didn’t wait for Jackson to answer before he barrelled on. “I know you all don’t get it, but what Peter and I have is good. I’m happy. He makes me happy. And I’m pretty sure I make him happy.”

“You do,” Peter assured him, leaning in to nuzzle Stiles’s neck.

Stiles giggled and pushed at his face playfully. “There’s no reason for me not to trust him. What he did is in the past, and if you all don’t remember, he was set on fire and had his throat slashed for it. Don’t you think that’s penance enough?” He let out a bit of a sigh. “Also, he gave me a rocking tattoo, so.”

“Oh, show us,” Erica said.

Stiles stood up and lifted his shirt, showing off the fox. He made it do laps around his navel a bit, and everyone was captivated. 

Peter got up to excuse himself to the bathroom, surprised to see that it was much like the downstairs bathroom had been before. He wanted to explore the house. Was Derek using the master bedroom, or was he sleeping in his old room? 

When he opened the door to the bathroom to go out, he started a bit because Lydia was standing right outside. He let out a sigh through his nose. “Here to reiterate your death threat?” 

Lydia shook her head, red waves of hair swaying. "No, I can see now there's no point to threatening you. If you wanted to hurt Stiles, you would have done it by now and left him broken hearted. You may be an asshole, but from what Stiles tells me, you're a better asshole than what you used to be."

Peter took on a bland expression. "Thanks. You really know how to compliment a guy."

"I wasn't trying to compliment you," she replied with a roll of her eyes. She turned and looked toward the living room where Stiles was talking excitedly, flinging his hands around. "He's happier now than I have ever seen him." She looked back at Peter. "Do you love him?"

Peter shifted his weight on his feet, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. He couldn’t answer that. Not out loud.

When he looked back to Lydia after flicking his gaze around, she gave him this small smile. “You do, don’t you?” She sighed when he looked down again, feeling like he was about to be scolded. “Tell him, okay? You might be surprised at what he’ll say.”

Peter lifted his gaze again. “What’s that supposed to mean? Has he told you something?”

Lydia’s smile turned wicked, and she turned back toward the living room. Peter followed after her, frowning at her back. Lydia was still smiling when she sat down next to Jackson, looking pleased with herself.

“What’s that look for?” Stiles asked, getting back into Peter’s lap once he’d sat down.

“It’s just my face,” Lydia said airily, sitting down next to Jackson again.

The front door opened, and the smell of cheese and grease filled the air. Braeden walked in, swinging a pair of keys on her finger as Derek followed at her, boxes of pizza stacked so high he could barely see around them. He set the boxes down, and they were descended upon by the pack of wolves, plus a banshee, a hunter and probably-a-witch. (Stiles didn’t have a label yet.)

The group talked about inane things for a bit, such as Scott’s motorcycle, Isaac’s daycare job, Erica’s classes and so on. But, since it was unavoidable, the subject had to turn to one thing.

“How does it feel to be an alpha?” Scott asked, and all eyes turned toward Peter.

Peter chewed his bite of meat lovers pizza without hurry. “I feel whole again,” he said, because it was the truth.

“Are you going to start a pack or take a territory?” Scott went on, face totally readable.

“I’m not planning on killing anyone for territory, if that’s what you’re implying,” Peter said, not surprised at all at the near accusation. Murdering someone for the land they ran sounded like something he would have done when he was unhinged. But all his hinges were firmly in place now. “I may someday offer willing people the Bite, but for now I’m happy with what I have.” He turned to Stiles, earning a bright smile.

“Do you want to run with us during the full moon?” Derek asked, his plate in his lap and his eyes half-lidded because Braeden was running her nails along his scalp. He looked so relaxed he was practically purring. Derek never used to let his guard down. It was amazing.

“Yes,” Peter said, smiling. “I want nothing more.”

When the gathering let out, everyone started to leave. Isaac, Erica and Boyd took the rest of the pizza, which wasn’t much because they were the type of group to annihilate food. 

“Do you need a place to stay?” Derek asked as Peter and Stiles were heading for the door.

Peter gave his nephew a kind smile. “No, thank you, I think I would succumb to tears if I stayed here,” he said, trying to sound sarcastic, but there was too much truth to his words.

Stiles wrapped his arms around one of Peter’s. “We’re going to get a room in Beacon Hills’ only good hotel, right?” he asked, and Peter nodded. Stiles put on a naughty grin. “We’re going to raid the mini fridge then do nasty things to each other.”

Peter laughed, and Derek looked a little pained. At least that made Braeden laugh.

As he drove through the long path, Peter felt distracted. He was worried about how Beacon Hills was making him feel now that he’d been accepted by what was left of his family. He almost felt like it could be his home again. He had to shake that off, because Palo Alto was his home now. He had a very successful business there. But--and this was the big question--when Stiles finished his schooling and went elsewhere to find a job, would Peter follow?

“Hey,” Stiles said, pulling Peter out of his thoughts, and he looked over. “You’re going like twenty miles under the speed limit.”

“Oh,” Peter said, speeding up.

“You okay?” Stiles reached over and touched Peter’s cheek. “I was talking and you weren’t answering.”

“Sorry,” Peter said on a sigh. “I’m a lot more affected by being here than I thought I would be.”

“But you feel good, right?” Stiles asked, and Peter couldn’t really answer that. “Pull over,” Stiles said after a few moments of silence.

“What, why?” Peter asked.

“Just do it,” Stiles said, pointing to a short gravel on the side of the road, something that had been planned to connect to a house, probably, but was never finished. “There.”

Peter pulled over, and Stiles was out of the door before he’d even put the car in park. Peter unbuckled and turned the car off, getting out and walking around to the front of the car where Stiles was standing. “What are you doing?” 

“You need an outlet,” Stiles said, before he spread out his arms, indicating to the preserve around them. “Here it is.”

Peter looked around, seeing only trees and a long stretch of road that didn’t get much traffic. He narrowed his eyes, trying to come up with what Stiles could possibly mean, but he needed more clues. “Do you… want to fuck in the woods?”

Stiles looked aghast, dropping his arms. “Peter I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Hale.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Peter said, putting his hands up. “My mind defaults to dirty half the time I’m with you.” He stuck out his chin. “And it’s Conrad.”

One of Stiles’s eyebrows went up, then the other one, and finally his eyes widened. “Oh my god, you’re not kidding, are you?”

“My parents had interesting ideas when it came to naming their children. My sister’s middle name was Luna.” Peter shrugged.

Stiles snorted, before he shook his head. “Okay, you distracted to me. I wanted to stop so you could run through the forest like I know you’re dying to.”

“I’m not going to run around all willy nilly while you wait in the car, Stiles,” Peter told him.

That pulled a laugh out of Stiles. “‘Willy nilly’ is not a phrased I ever expected out of your mouth. And no, I’m not going to wait in the car.” A wide grin full of impish intent spread across his face. “Catch me if you can, Squishywolf.” Then he turned and ran at a full sprint into the trees.

Peter’s eyes blazed red as his nostrils flared, and he started pulling off clothes, creating a pile on the ground. Hopefully it wouldn’t look to the few possible passers-by like a streaker was in the woods, even though that was sort of what was happening. Stepping out of his clothes puddle, he shook himself and fell to all fours, bones shifting and fur sprouting over his body.

In his huge wolf form, the world was so different. Sure, he couldn’t see in color, but smells were so vibrant, each speaking to him in a different language. He found Stiles’s scent immediately, smeared across the trunk of a tree like he’d run his hand across it while going past. Peter sniffed at the streak a few times, breathing him in, before he could practically see his scent in the air. 

Then he started to run, pushing himself fast and delighting in the burn in his limbs. His tongue fell from his mouth as he sucked in swallows of air, quiet though in the way his feet barely touched the ground. He could tell he was getting warmer. The scent was getting warmer, fresher, and it wouldn’t be too long before he came upon his human mate. 

But then the trail stopped, and Peter jogged to a stop. He snuffled through the leaves, trying to figure out which direction Stiles went, but he couldn’t get a whiff. He sniffed one of the trees and sneezed. It was that same smell from outside the Stilinski residence. It was super sweet, like someone was making 120 proof applejack. But here, close to the scent, he could smell magic too. Not just Stiles’s magic, which smelled like cotton right out of the dryer. Then was older, kind of like the smell of rotting plants.

Peter bared his teeth as he closed his eyes and concentrated on his hearing. He shut out all the sounds of nature, such as squirrels and rabbits skittering around, the doe and her fawn about twenty feet to his right, and the wind rustling the trees. When he did that, he picked up on Stiles’s voice.

"Don't touch me!"

Turning, Peter flung himself full speed in the direction of Stiles’s voice, pushing himself faster than any normal wolf could manage. He kept his ear trained on Stiles.

"Pretty little white witch," came a voice he didn't recognize, a woman. She sounded scratchy and strange. "You shouldn’t go running through the woods alone."

"What do you want?!" Stiles demanded, and the woman laughed, a mad cackle.

"You, silly. I can just tell you're going to be delicious. When I'm done with you, I'm going devour your wolves."

Peter raced through some trees and saw Stiles in the distance. He could also see a figure standing near him, her back to Peter. He saw Stiles notice him, and Stiles put up his hands. The woman was pushed back, and she stumbled a little before laughing.

"All you know are defensive spells," she said, before she made a motion the knocked Stiles flat on his back. "How can you hope to defeat me?"

Stiles managed to get to his feet, and there was the coppery smell of blood in the air. "I don't need to defeat you. I just need to distract you."

The witch didn’t have time ask what that meant before Peter burst into the clearing with a snarl. The witch whipped around and went to raise her arms to defend herself, but her arms were abruptly wrenched behind her with sickening pops of bones being torn out of socket. She screamed and looked over where Stiles had his hands up, eyes pure white.

"No, wait!" the witch tried to beg, before Peter leapt at her and crushed her skull with his teeth. Her blood tasted like acid, burning in his mouth. He followed her down onto the ground, shaking her twitching body. He didn’t drop her head until it was detached from her spine. He let go of her mangled skull and stepped back.

Peter looked to Stiles, who was rounding the witch's body and reaching out. Peter let out a sigh as Stiles’s hand sank into his fur. "Back up, squishywolf," he said, and Peter did. Stiles lifted a hand and conjured a burst of fire, which he dropped onto the corpse. The witch lit up like paper, and the smell was horrible.

Shaking his large head, Peter pulled the beast back until he was rising on two feet. He spat onto the ground, the taste of rancid blood still in his mouth. “Are you alright?” he asked Stiles, looking at him. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, lifting his hands. There was a cut on one of his palms, and it healed as Peter watched.

But that didn’t stop Peter from pulling Stiles close and taking a deep breath of his scent.

“You’re covered in blood,” Stiles said with a laugh, pushing Peter away gently. Then he laughed some more.

“What?” Peter asked, looking down at himself. He had dark stains on his chest, no doubt on his neck and face too. He was such a sight.

“I don’t know. You just chewed a witch’s head off and look totally badass,” Stiles said, smiling. “But you’re completely naked.” Peter grinned at that. “You have bloody teeth!”

* * *

They waited until the corpse burned down to nothing before they headed back to the road. They stopped by a stream, and Peter splashed around a bit, getting all the blood off. When they reached the car, Peter pulled on his clothes, and they headed toward the town. 

When they got to the hotel, Peter collapsed onto the plush couch, and Stiles sat next to him, cuddling against his side. “I was not expecting to face off with a supernatural baddie while we’re here,” Peter said, closing his eyes and putting his head back. “I was expecting to fight Scott and maybe Derek, but not a completely foreign party.” He let out a sigh. “I wasn’t expecting to kill.”

He felt Stiles shift against his side, arms holding him a bit tighter. “How do you feel?” 

Peter had to think about that a moment. Immediately he wanted to say he felt sick, but that was probably the blood he’d unintentionally swallowed. He looked deeper, trying to find the psychopathic glee that he’d been accused of having years ago. But that wasn’t what was lurking under his skin.

“Relieved,” he finally said, opening his eyes and looking at Stiles. “That I was able to end it, that you weren’t hurt.” 

“Anything else?” Stiles asked.

Peter foraged deeper into his own mind, and he was surprised at what he found. “Guilty. That I had to use lethal force to protect you and.... and the others.”

A smile spread across Stiles’s face. “I’m proud of you, Peter,” he said, and Peter felt elated enough that he was dizzy. Stiles stood up, taking Peter’s hands and pulling him up too. 

They moved to the shower, and Peter stood there as Stiles soaped up a fluffy loufa and ran it over his body, catching the blood that had been missed. Peter nuzzled Stiles’s temple with his parted lips, still feeling the need to make sure he was okay. He was, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

After the shower, they fell into bed, their hair still damp. Stiles started to kiss at Peter’s neck and shoulder, but Peter pushed him back enough to look at his face. “Wait,” he said, tangling his hand in Stiles’s hair. “I need to tell you something.” He took a deep breath, the oxygen catching in his throat and stopping his words.

“What?” Stiles asked, blinking and leaning in. He slid his lips across Peter’s.

“I love you,” Peter said against Stiles’s mouth, and he managed not to avert his eyes when Stiles pulled back to blink. “It’s not just that though. My… My wolf recognizes you as… as my mate.” That made Stiles’s eyes widen a bit. “This has never happened to me before.” He’d given up hope that it ever would. 

Stiles lifted his hand and touched Peter’s face. “Okay. That’s--I mean, that’s--wow, but I appreciate it. I don’t know if I love you though.” He stopped Peter from pulling back. “No, wait, listen. I’ve only had feelings for one other person, and this is different. It’s deeper. It’s more sincere. I think I’m starting to love you, but I haven’t had that ‘aha!’ moment.”

“Ah,” Peter said, not sure what to do with that. Stiles wasn’t breaking up with him, so that was a start.

“Give me time,” Stiles went on, holding Peter close. “I’ll say it when I mean it.”

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, before he laughed. “Fair enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Big things happened, oooooh.
> 
> Next up: Ink for werewolves
> 
> Update by: **4/26/15**


End file.
